


Alone, In Rationed Light

by BafflingAthalie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Affairs, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Coming Out, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Healing, Heartbreak, Love, M/M, Ministry of Magic Employee Draco Malfoy, Ministry of Magic Employee Hermione Granger, PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BafflingAthalie/pseuds/BafflingAthalie
Summary: Alone, in rationed light - Harry's journey through the end of his relationship with Ginny, and what comes after, laid out in weekends.
Relationships: Ginny/Cormac, Harry/Draco, Harry/Ginny, Luna/Neville, Ron/Hermione
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. The Truth Is Darkness (weekend one)

**Author's Note:**

> Lowkey a character assassination of Ginny - if you love Ginny, not the best story for you BUT my next story is all about her!
> 
> Song for Chapters One and Two: 'exile' by Taylow Swift and Bon Iver

It had been a long week for Auror Harry Potter, and a longer month – in only four weeks he’d solved eight cases, and saved almost as many lives. It had been hard, tiring work. 

And so it was a weary man that came through his front door, looking forward to spending a quiet weekend in with his fiancée, Ginny Weasley. His gruelling Auror career, combined with her busy Quidditch schedule, meant they hadn’t really seen each other for a few weeks, and he’d missed her. 

He shook off his coat and dropped it on the kitchen table, careful not to crush the flowers he was clutching in his right hand. The flowers weren’t the only gift he was bringing her – just this afternoon he’d been promoted to Deputy Head Auror, at only 23 years old, and with it came more flexible hours. He’d left work as soon as he’d found out, keen to celebrate with Ginny.

Their flat was minimalistic and colourless, filled with stainless steel kitchen appliances and white wooden shelves – it had always felt a little cold to Harry, but Ginny loved it, and so Harry did too. Besides, now he had his new work office to decorate in whatever way he wanted.

The lights were on, although there was no sign of Ginny in the kitchen or the living room, and the bedroom door was firmly closed.

Ginny was prone to migraines, the only lasting reminder of her encounter with Tom Riddle in her first year, and Harry supposed she was resting in the dark. He swung open the door and crept in, not wanting to disturb her if she was asleep. 

But what he saw wasn’t his fiancée curled up in bed nursing a headache. It took him a few long moments to understand what he was seeing, and then he didn’t think he’d ever unsee it. 

Ginny was not alone in their bed. Rolling around in bed with her was Cormac McLaggen, Ginny’s Puddlemere United teammate. Both were naked, and sweating, and flushed. 

Harry stared, horrified, clenching the flowers a little too tight in his fist. They started to wilt.

“What the fuck?” He finally managed to say, voice coming out a little squeaky but loud enough to be heard by Ginny and her lover. 

Ginny let out a tiny shriek and pulled the covers over her body, face paling under the flush of sex, staring across at Harry. Cormac moved much slower, and Harry saw a flash of something he very much did not want to see, although he supposed Ginny must rather fancy it, judging by the two used condoms on the floor. He thought he might be sick. 

“Harry! I thought you weren’t coming home till later…” Ginny said weakly, unnerved by his silence. She didn’t pull away from Cormac as he leaned against her, grinning at Harry. 

“Looks like I shouldn’t have fucking bothered coming back at all.” 

“Harry…” Ginny said again, this time reprovingly, as though his anger was unwarranted. She made a half-hearted attempt to get out of bed.

“Don’t bother.” He snarled, abruptly turning away, slamming the door behind him as he stormed away. 

He stood in the kitchen, breathing heavily, and then dropped the flowers on the floor, stomping on them. His eyes were filling with tears. 

There was no movement from further inside the flat, no doors opening, and Harry realised what it meant – Ginny wasn’t following him. She was staying in bed with Cormac. 

Choking back a sob, Harry turned on the spot, apparating away. There was no thought in his head, and it could have been a terrible splinching, but his heart knew where to go. He turned up on Ron and Hermione’s front door. 

***

Ron didn’t take it well. Neither did Hermione, but at least she didn’t put her fist through a wall.

Harry had never seen Ron so upset in all their years of friendship – he’d threatened to go and shake some sense in to Ginny, and offered to off Cormac at the same time. (Ron hated Cormac with a particular fierceness because he had briefly dated Hermione in sixth year.)

Hermione had obviously stopped him, and Harry hadn’t really wanted him to anyway (or at least, wasn’t going to actively condone it) and so instead they’d sat around and watched Harry cry. 

And cry Harry did, almost constantly, for several long hours. He couldn’t understand Ginny’s betrayal – of their relationship, of their love, of him. 

“How could she do this?” He sobbed, and his friends had no answer. Harry and Ginny’s relationship had always been tempestuous – both incredibly passionate, and terribly stubborn – but they had always seemed happily in love. Their love had survived a war, after all. 

Finally, all his tears seemingly dried up, Harry stood up. 

“I’m going for a drink.” He said, brushing off Ron’s offer to join him, ignoring Hermione’s worried comment that perhaps he wasn’t in the best state to be drinking right now. 

“I’m going for a drink.” He repeated, and left. 

***

Four hours later found him slumped, barely conscious, in a small, wizarding pub near Diagon Alley. Strewn in front of him were perhaps ten odd beer bottles, along with several still-steaming shot glasses that had not long ago contained Firewhiskey. 

He’d spoken to no-one but the bartender, and no-one else had dared to bother the madman crying and drinking in the corner. Hermione had had the foresight to make him change his appearance, so no Daily Prophet articles would be slandering Harry as an alcoholic the next day. 

It was well into the early hours of the next day when the bartender kicked Harry out of his pub, and to Harry’s relief, Ron was outside, waiting patiently to take Harry home to pass out on their sofa. 

There would be time tomorrow for Harry to face his problems, Ron figured, might as well let him drink his sorrows away tonight.

****

Harry and Ginny sat across from each other at the kitchen table, surrounded by boxes of Ginny’s things. Harry’s head hurt, and he still felt hungover, but he pushed it deep down inside him as he looked at Ginny. She hadn’t cleaned up the flower remains, and there were petals scattered across the kitchen floor. 

He was unforgiving, stone-faced and icy-voiced. She looked unnerved by his cold anger, but he was a good actor – underneath it, he was heartbroken.

“Was McLaggen the only one?” 

It was a cruel question, and although he said it coolly, Harry could hardly bear to ask it of Ginny, let alone believe she would tell him no. Surely this had been a mistake – there had to be a way back from this.

For the first time since he’d seen her in bed with Cormac yesterday, Ginny looked upset. Harry thought about taking the question back. But he had to be pitiless - he’d cried all his tears last night, and now he was drought-dry. He deserved the truth.

She didn’t answer for a long time. She fiddled with her hair, and then her engagement ring, and then finally fell still.

“No. There were others, before him.”

Harry closed his eyes, feeling his heart shatter. If it had just been Cormac, they could have fixed it, couldn’t they? But now…

“Explain it to me, Ginny. Why? Why did you do this?”

Ginny looked pensive, like she was going through a list in her head.

“When I first fell in love with you, you were this brave, mysterious boy, and more than anything I wanted to know you. But you’re unknowable, Harry! You’re still brave, and selfless, but that’s all there is.”

Harry flinched. 

“What do you mean?” He wanted nothing more than to leave this conversation, but Ginny was the one leaving, and that meant he had to stay and listen.

“You’re so distant, Harry. It feels like you’re never quite there, like you’re still living the war. I mean…you still have nightmares about it, for fuck’s sake.” 

“You can’t be serious. We fought in a war, Ginny. How am I supposed to get over that?”

“It was six years ago, Harry! When are you going to move on?” Ginny raised her voice slightly, anger breaking through her cool demeanour. “For the first few years, I thought, well, he’ll get over it, one day he’ll be Harry again. But you didn’t, you just stayed…untouchable.”

“How can you say that? You of all people know what it’s like to live through something awful – you almost died!” 

Even as he said it, he knew it wouldn’t change her mind – Ginny had, through sheer will power, pushed away all her memories of the Chamber of Secrets.

“Yeah, what happened to me when I was a kid was traumatic, Harry. It was terrifying and awful, but it was eleven years ago. I grew up, I got over it.”

“Well, then you’re lucky!” 

“No, Harry, I’m normal!”

Hearing her say that hurt more than seeing her with Cormac, somehow. He didn’t even have a response, he was so hurt. He’d always know Ginny hadn’t understood his nightmares, or the anxiety attacks he used to get, but he’d always thought she at least sympathised. But he’d been wrong all along. 

He barely recognised the woman in front of him. But surely she was still Ginny – the woman he loved, who was funny and passionate and more beautiful than anyone.

Like any couple that was as stubborn as he was and as fierce as she was, they had argued in the past, but those fights were loud and angry. This conversation was something totally different – it was quiet and cold. Even so, Harry, desperate and heartbroken, tried the one thing that had always ended their arguments before. 

“I love you, Ginny.” 

But she didn’t say it back. Instead, she carefully slipped off her engagement ring and pushed it across the table towards him. 

“How did we get here, Gin?” 

She looked sadly across at him. 

“I got tired of waiting.” She replied, and then she left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story so far! Please leave comments and let me know what you like/don't like :) Also, feel free to message and ask for one-shot ideas or anything you want to see me write - I'd love to give them a go! x


	2. Hope Is A Dangerous Thing (weekend two)

Friday night found Harry sat, nursing his fourth beer, at the bar. Once again, no-one had tried to talk to him, thanks to a combination of Hermione’s facial transfiguration spell and the unpleasant, miserable look plastered across his new face. It was a surprise, then, when someone sat down in the seat on Harry’s left. 

“God, Potter, I thought you didn’t drink.” Came a cheerful yet slightly concerned voice from beside him. Harry turned to see Draco Malfoy watching him coolly over his glass of wine. 

“I’m not in the mood, Malfoy.” Harry snapped, and then froze. He ran his fingers across his face, reassured to feel the buzz of Hermione’s spell still in place. “Wait. How did you know it was me?” 

“Oh, please. Even with someone else’s face you can’t disguise that hair. Do you even own a comb?”

Harry scowled and returned to glaring at his drink. 

“Bugger off, Malfoy.”

Malfoy didn’t bugger off, instead settling himself further onto his stool.

“You’ve been at this bar every night for a week. I’ve never seen you drink more than a glass of wine before.”

“So?” 

“So, what’s wrong?”

Harry scowled again, imagining he could feel the heat of Ginny’s ring in his pocket. For some reason, he couldn’t persuade himself to throw it away or sell it.

“None of your business.” 

Malfoy nodded, ordered another drink, and changed the subject. 

“Congratulations on your promotion. Youngest ever Deputy Head, not a small accomplishment.”

“Thanks.” Harry replied. 

The news of his promotion hadn’t gone public yet, but Malfoy wasn’t the public – he worked in the legal department of the Ministry of Magic, working closely with the Aurors to prosecute criminals. As a result, Harry and Malfoy often worked together, forming a half-hearted friendship that was closer to civil pleasantry with added sarcastic banter.

They talked for some time about work – the man Harry had beaten to get his new job (Auror McNab), the success of their latest case, and the Ministry ball the next day. 

Finally, Harry, having drunk two more beers, said what he was really thinking about. 

“Ginny left me.” 

Malfoy looked shocked. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He censored whatever comment he’d been about to make, and instead said: 

“God, I’m sorry. That’s awful.”

There was a couple of seconds of silence. 

“She cheated on me. Multiple times, with multiple men.”

Harry’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion, but he could feel a burning pain in his chest that promised more tears in the future. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Why are you sorry? You didn’t sleep with her.” Harry said idly, still staring into the dregs of his drink, and then he hesitated. “Did you sleep with her?”

Malfoy laughed. Harry didn’t. 

“Oh, you’re serious. I’m gay, Potter, I thought you knew that.” 

Harry flushed, embarrassed. He’d never taken much notice of Malfoy’s dating habits. 

“I always thought you two were perfect for each other.” 

“Me too.” Harry said simply, but it was an understatement for how he felt about Ginny – when he’d proposed to her last year he’d had this vision in his head, of them in forty years with kids and grandkids, still in love. It was hard for Harry to dispel that vision. 

Harry and Malfoy sat quietly for a while. It was a relief for Harry to be silent – Hermione, bless her, always wanted confirmation he was alright, and Ron always tried to keep the mood light. It was nice to be allowed to be sad. 

“Anyway, I’ve got to be off.” Malfoy stood, pushing his empty glasses towards the bartender, dropping a couple of coins beside them. “Will you be going to the Ministry ball?” 

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

Harry wasn’t wrong – that was the night his promotion would be made public. 

“Hmm, well, I might see you there.” 

***

“God, I hate these events.” Harry grumbled to Hermione as Ron snatched up three wine glasses from a passing waiter. 

“You only have to be here until they announce the promotion. Give a quick speech and then you can go home.” 

“Or maybe you should call in sick.” Ron said, abruptly turning round, ears turning red to match his hair. 

“Ronald!” Hermione chastised, frowning at him as she liberated her glass from his tight grip. “Oh dear. Maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad idea, Harry.” 

Hermione had never before suggested Harry play hooky, and so Harry whirled round to see what had upset Ron and Hermione so. With hindsight, it was the worst decision he could have made.

Standing in the entrance of the hall was Ginny, dressed in a skin-tight black dress, holding hands with Cormac McLaggen. Harry watched, frozen, as Cormac wrapped his arms around Ginny, whispered something into her ear, and Ginny broke into peals of laughter. 

Up until that exact moment, Harry had been harbouring a secret hope in his chest that it had all been a mistake, that Ginny would change her mind, that he would earn her love back. Ginny’s wide, red-lipped smile ripped that hope, still beating, right out his chest.

“Cormac’s a boring git, so I don’t know what she’s laughing at.” Ron muttered. The break up a week ago had put a wrench in his relationship with his sister – as much as he loved her, he couldn’t condone her actions towards Harry. 

“What are they doing here?” Hermione gasped. 

Harry finally roused himself from his frozen horror and turned back to his friends. His hands were trembling around the stem of his wine glass.

“Cormac is one of the Ministry’s top thirty celebrities this year. Ginny must be his…date.” He had to spit the word out. He couldn’t take his eyes of Ginny and Cormac, giggling like children behind their wine glasses. 

Hermione was talking. He tuned in to the last few moments, but had to ask her to repeat herself. 

“I said, this is going to be all over the news by tomorrow. You two haven’t publically broken up yet, have you?” 

“The Daily Prophet are going to have a field day with this one.” Harry said miserably – he could just picture the article now – ‘Potter drives Weasley away’, or ‘Potter can’t satisfy his (ex) woman’. 

Hermione made to say something comforting, but Harry interrupted her as Ginny’s laugh sounded again. 

“I’ve got to get out of here.” 

He shoved his glass towards her and darted off through the crowd, finally arriving in a small side room. He didn’t turn on the lights – he didn’t want to be found. 

He sat in a corner and cried – he felt like someone had stabbed him through the heart, seeing Ginny’s smile aimed at Cormac, hearing him make her laugh. He wished he’d brought his wine with him, but it wouldn’t have been enough – he didn’t think there was enough wine in the world for him to drown his sorrows in. 

He knew he was pathetic, sat alone in a dark room sobbing to himself, but he couldn’t help it. He’d had the perfect life up until a week ago – a beautiful fiancée, brilliant friends, and a job he was very good at. But without Ginny he had no-one to share that life with. 

He’d missed most of the party by the time he returned to the main hall, having carefully wiped away his tears and flattened his hair back down. 

“Great speech, Harry!” A colleague of his called out to him, lifting her glass to him. 

“Uh, thanks!” He called back, confused. 

Three more people congratulated him on a good speech before he made it back to Ron and Hermione, who quickly explained. 

“Well, you clearly needed some time alone, and Ron is a great public speaker, so we didn’t think you’d mind if Ron gave your speech looking like you.” 

“That’s a great idea…thanks, Ron, Hermione, you’re both lifesavers.” Harry paused. “Sorry.” 

“Don’t be mad, mate. What’ve you got to apologise for?” Ron shrugged, patted Harry’s back and held out his hand to Hermione. “We’ve always got your back, mate.” 

***

Sunday morning was bad – the Daily Prophet article was worse than Harry could have imagined. It branded him as a bad boyfriend, a bad lover, a workaholic, jealous of Ginny’s career, even abusive. The article called Ginny and Cormac the new ‘IT’ couple, a match made in heaven. 

Harry read through his copy of the paper twice, and then burnt it to a crisp in his fireplace. He didn’t cry – he was angry – at the Daily Prophet, at Cormac, at Ginny, at himself.

He hadn’t been the perfect boyfriend, it was true – he’d argued with Ginny, and he’d worked long hours, and sometimes he’d been so filled with memories of the war that he’d been unable to sleep. But despite all that, he loved her with everything he had, and it hadn’t been enough. He just couldn’t decide whose fault it was – his, or hers.


	3. The Weight Of The World Is Love (weekend three)

Harry threw yet another stack of hate mail into his fireplace, watching as the papers flared and furled in on themselves. Almost a week after the Daily Prophet newspaper article and people were still sending him letters calling him a wife beater and a jealous bully. 

Hermione kept advising him to stop reading them, to burn them on arrival – she didn’t understand why he kept reading the abuse from strangers. He didn’t know how to tell her that he had to know, that it hurt him in just the right way, kept his guilt burning in his chest. 

He’d written a letter to Ginny (which he’d regretted almost immediately) but she hadn’t replied. He presumed she was staying with Cormac, wherever he lived. She probably hadn’t even opened the letter he’d sent her. He hoped she hadn’t – it had been full of begging and promises, and he’d felt pathetic as he wrote it. 

The letter even asked her why she was willing to let the papers slander him when they both knew it wasn’t the truth. He knew she would never come clean about cheating on him, but, naively, he hoped she might at least tell everyone he was a good man.

Harry had been back at work this week, having taken a week off supposedly to prepare for his promotion, but really to try and get over his breakup. It was almost a relief to be at work again – people there knew him well enough to know he was a good man, and besides, he was the boss now, which meant no-one could say anything about the whole fiasco.

He’d eaten lunch twice with Malfoy, which had never happened before, but had been surprisingly nice. Harry could do with more friends, now he didn’t have Ginny to spend time with, so he wasn’t going to turn away a friendly face. Also, he needed the distraction – as soon as he was alone he felt like crying and putting his fist through a wall.

Harry was going to the pub with Malfoy later that evening, in fact – to eat, not to drink, which he felt was a step in the direction of getting over Ginny, or at least feeling less heartbroken. 

***

“You’re an abusive piece of shit and I can’t believe I ever liked you!” The blonde witch spat, throwing the remainder of her drink onto Harry’s face. 

He spluttered and coughed as she stormed off.

“What was that all about?” Malfoy asked, waving his wand over Harry’s face and vanishing the liquid. 

“Oh, the Daily Prophet article. I’m a bit of an anti-hero now.” Harry’s voice was light and he tried to smile, but he couldn’t deny that he was hurt.

“What article? I don’t read the Prophet.” 

Harry smiled half-heartedly and shrugged, as though to say, ‘it’s OK, I don’t mind.’

“No, really. I haven’t read the Prophet since we were at school. Everything they publish is a crock of lies.” 

Harry’s half-smile unfurled into a true smile. He hated the Daily Prophet with his entire being, and he was glad someone else felt even half as strongly as he did.

“They published an article last weekend, after Ginny and Cormac went to the Ministry ball together. It says I abused Ginny and that I tried to control her, that I’m jealous of her career, stuff like that.” 

Malfoy frowned. 

“But none of that is true. Why isn’t Weasley coming forward?” 

Harry shrugged, this time not even trying to hide the pain he was in.

“I guess she just doesn’t care anymore.”

Malfoy’s frown deepened further, but he changed the topic, instead asking Harry about one of his new cases. 

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly with no more interruptions, although Harry was on the receiving end of more than a few nasty glares. 

***

When Harry woke the next morning he was greeted by yet more hate mail. One letter was hexed, and as he opened it his fingers started to swell up like he’d been stung by wasps. Gasping in pain he ran to the bathroom and stuck his fingers under the cold tap, but his fingers kept swelling, reminding him vaguely of Aunt Marge from all those years ago. 

To Harry’s horror, he saw his wrist starting to grow, and the pain spread further, up into his arm. Giving up on the cold water, he ran back to the living room to grab his wand. He cast several of the most common counter-spells to no avail – this was a nasty piece of magic, and he didn’t know how to stop it. 

His fingers were burning now, and his skin was turning red and blistery. Panicking, he turned to his fireplace, calling out Ron and Hermione’s address as he stepped through into their living room. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he kept babbling, sorry to have interrupted their day, sorry to be in trouble again, sorry to be a problem. 

After a brief moment of shock as Ron and Hermione sat eating breakfast, they jumped into action. Harry had thought to snatch the hexed letter as he left, and he thrust it at Hermione, careful not to let her touch it. 

As she took it, using her sleeve to hold the paper after taking a single look at Harry’s ballooning hands, Ron was grabbing his wand and summoning several of Hermione’s books. The only sound in the room was Harry’s strangled sobs of pain. 

It took Hermione fifteen minutes to find and cast the counter-spell, by which time Harry’s whole arms were swollen and he had passed out from pain. 

When he woke up, Hermione looked very serious and Ron was nowhere to be found.

“You are not allowed to open any more hate mail, Harry. This is getting ridiculous.” 

Harry looked at his now-normal hands, and wondered if perhaps this time he should listen to her.

“Where’s Ron?” 

“He’s gone to bring Ginny here. The two of you need to talk – you’re obviously miserable and she’s clearly lashing out.” Hermione had barely finished speaking when Ron swung open the front door, pushing in Ginny before him. 

“Right. You two are going to talk it out.” Hermione’s voice brooked no arguments, and she vanished into the kitchen with Ron. 

Harry stared at Ginny. She’d cut her long wild hair to just above her shoulders. It looked really good. 

“Hi.” He said. She didn’t reply. She wouldn’t meet his eyes, instead staring several feet above him. 

Harry had been angry at her just this morning, angry that she had left him, that she’d hurt him, but now all he could think about was how much he missed her, like a kick to the chest. He spoke without even thinking. 

“Come home, Ginny. Please, come back home to me.” 

“It’s not my home anymore, Harry.” 

“I can change, I can be better, I’ll do anything you want.” 

“And it won’t be enough! I was unhappy with you, alright? I don’t want to be that girl again, waiting for the great Harry Potter to notice me. So yeah, maybe what I did was wrong, but it helped me see a way out, and so I’m not going to apologise for it.”

Ginny’s outburst shocked him into silence. He finally saw what he had been refusing to acknowledge – she wasn’t sorry that she’d hurt him. Now he was angry again.

“Have you read the article about me?” 

Ginny looked almost ashamed, rocking on her feet. 

“Yeah, I read it.” 

Harry scowled. He’d hoped she knew nothing about it, that she was somehow oblivious, but now he knew better – she was deliberately choosing to let the papers ruin his reputation. 

“You’re letting them lie about me.” He sounded petulant even to his own ears. 

“You’re a big boy, Harry, you can fix your problems by yourself. Isn’t that what you’ve always done?” 

Harry couldn’t even speak he was so hurt by the bitterness in her voice. 

“I’m just asking you to tell the truth.”

“Tell it yourself if you’re so desperate to be the world’s Golden Boy again.” Ginny snapped, and then she stormed out of the flat, slamming the door behind her. 

Ron and Hermione appeared, identical frowns on their face. Harry hugged them both quickly and vanished through the fireplace, not wanting to talk. 

***

Much to his dismay, Harry had to go into work on Sunday, to interview a suspect and discuss the latest updates with Malfoy, who was also on the case. 

It didn’t take long for Malfoy to notice Harry’s fingers, which, although healing, were still red and blistered, and it took him even less time to wrangle the story out of Harry. 

“I don’t think she’s trying to be cruel…” Harry said weakly, trying to justify Ginny’s actions. 

“That’s irrelevant – she is being cruel. She’s hurt, and she’s taking it out on you, but you not being a good boyfriend isn’t reason enough to let the papers crucify you.”

Harry said nothing. He didn’t want to admit that Malfoy might be right.

“You should stand up for yourself, Potter, or at least let someone else do it for you. It’s no fun making fun of you when you’re already miserable.” 

Malfoy didn’t wait for a response (which is a good thing, because Harry had nothing), instead packing up his papers and leaving. 

***

Monday morning was chaotic – the Daily Prophet had received an anonymous tip late last night that disclosed the truth of Harry and Ginny’s break up – she had cheated on him multiple times, and Harry had tried to forgive her, tried to move on. Instead, she’d allowed the world to trash his reputation while she happily moved on to the next man. 

The article was scathing towards Ginny, and indifferent to Harry – his nemesis was unwilling to sing Harry’s praises, but it was revelling in the drama.

By 10am Harry had been asked no less than six times if he’d sent in the tip, and all he could do was tell them, honestly, that he had nothing to do with it. He vaguely hoped it might have been Ginny, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to believe it – it was more likely to be Ron, who had been incredibly disappointed with Ginny’s unwillingness to play nice with Harry despite their breakup. 

At midday, sat in his shiny new office, Harry received a Howler from Ginny, raging that Harry was being petty and pathetic, trying to get back at her, trying to get back into everybody’s good graces. For the first time since the moment he’d found her in bed with Cormac, the sound of her voice didn’t hurt him. 

He scraped the ashes of the Howler into a pile and vanished them. He loved Ginny – she was funny, and kind, and brave, and a million other good things. But she wasn’t his Ginny anymore, and he had to let her go. And even as he thought it, he felt his shoulders lighten, as though he’d let go of a heavy weight.


	4. Half Broken-Hearted (weekend four)

It had been a month since Harry had walked in on Ginny and Cormac, and for the first time he didn’t reach out to her side of the bed as he woke up. It wasn’t really her side of the bed anymore, he knew, but he still wasn’t able to sleep across the whole bed. It would take time, he was sure.

His promotion hadn’t been as easy as he’d expected (he was required to be a lot more responsible than naturally came to him) but he was enjoying the hard work. He’d worked late last night, until the early hours of this morning, and so he’d woken late. 

He made himself breakfast slowly, and realised, as he started to eat, that he hadn’t thought of Ginny since the night before. 

“Progress.” He said to himself, not happily, but perhaps contentedly, as he shovelled a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 

He’d almost finished eating when there was a knock on his front door. He wondered who it could be – Ron and Hermione would have come by Floo, and none of his other friends would have come without telling him first. 

Before he could stand to open the door, he heard the sound of a key in the lock and the door swung open to reveal Ginny.

She looked like a mess, dressed in her pyjamas still, hair unbrushed, but her facial expression was a mix of anger and upset. 

“I really should get the locks changed.” Harry said mildly and returned to his food. 

“Is that all you have to say?” She demanded, slamming the door behind her as she came further into the flat. 

It wasn’t – he wanted to ask why she was here, he wanted to ask if she was coming home, he wanted to ask if she still loved him. Instead, he shrugged. He’d chosen last week to let Ginny go. He had to stick to that if he ever wanted to be OK again.

“Yeah, actually.” 

In the corner of his eye he could see she was outraged, but she took a few deep breaths. She’d never shown that kind of restraint during their relationship, so he knew she wanted something. 

“I’d like you to take back the story you gave the Daily Prophet.” 

“What, no please and thank you?” He was being unnecessarily facetious, but he didn’t really care. 

“Please take it back. It’s ruining my reputation, Harry.” 

He paused. 

“That sounds familiar…hmm.” He pretended to think. “Oh yeah. I believe the reply to that goes a little like this: You’re a big girl, you can fix your problems by yourself. Did I get that right?”

“Harry!” Ginny cried, annoyed. “Why won’t you help me?” 

He looked at her, standing in his kitchen – it didn’t look right. She didn’t belong here anymore. 

“Firstly, I didn’t give them that story, so I can’t take it back. Secondly, I wouldn’t even if I could.”

“Why not?” She demanded. 

“Because you’re not my fiancée anymore. You left me, Ginny. I don’t have any obligation to help you anymore.” 

“Fuck you, Harry. Fuck you.” She stormed out the door. Just before she slammed the door closed, though, Harry called out. 

“I’m changing the locks.” 

***

Harry was ashamed to admit he cried after Ginny left, but he hadn’t felt upset, really – it had been more cathartic, more like an acceptance of a new life without her. But just because he didn’t want Ginny back anymore didn’t mean he wasn’t lonely – because he was. He was used to waking up with someone, used to having date nights and inside jokes and someone to share his life with. He felt half broken hearted – he didn’t want Ginny back, but he didn’t want her gone, either.

As much as he loved Ron and Hermione, he knew he couldn’t bother them with every little worry and all his steps forward, and although he was now closer friends with Malfoy, it still felt strange to be confiding in him – their relationship had previously been mostly work stuff and back-and-forth banter. He decided to visit Neville and Luna, whom he hadn’t seen in quite a few months. 

Neville and Luna lived in a remote corner of Scotland when they weren’t working and living at Hogwarts, as Assistant Professors to Sprout and Hagrid respectively. Their relationship seemed to be a thing of dreams – between them, they were rapidly becoming the world’s experts on magical flora and fauna. They spent all their free hours travelling the depths of Scotland looking for hard-to-believe creatures and rare plants, and spent their summers in hidden parts of Europe. 

Harry wasn’t sure if they were dating, actually – he knew they lived together, and certainly didn’t date anybody else, but neither of them seemed particularly sexually interested in each other. Hermione said they identified as ‘asexual’, which Harry thought meant they loved each other but didn’t need or want to have sex to show it, although he wasn’t really an expert. 

He wrote a quick letter to Neville and Luna explaining he was coming to visit, but he didn’t bother waiting for a reply – Luna had told him he was welcome any time, all the time, and he believed her. 

So he packed a little bag of clothes (including a muggle raincoat and an umbrella – his water-resistant charms were good, but even they couldn’t do much against the general dampness of rural Scotland) and set off to Apparate as close as he could.

***

Scotland was colder and wetter than he’d remembered from his time at Hogwarts, but the air was fresher and it was peaceful in a way London never was. He’d had to walk for more than an hour to get to Neville and Luna’s house, but he’d enjoyed the walk. He had begun to feel a little chilly, which he didn’t mind, but he was glad to see the cottage ahead of him as it began to drizzle, and then pour with rain.

“Harry! How nice!” Luna cried out, darting through the long grass to embrace him. He noticed she was barefoot, despite the chill and dampness.

Smiling, he hugged her back, careful not to get her long hair in his mouth, as always happened with Hermione’s crazy hair.

“Neville’s just out doing some research, but he should be back soon. He’ll be so pleased to see you!” 

Luna grabbed Harry’s arm and tugged him into their little cottage. He’d been there once, a few years ago, when they’d first moved in, but it looked very different – now there were potted plants on every single surface, some of which Harry thought he’d rather not get near if he had a choice, and countless of Luna’s fantastical creature sketches pinned on the walls. It looked very chaotic and busy compared to his own flat, but he thought it felt warmer and more homely. 

Luna set about making Harry a cup of tea, and he’d only just taken his first sip when Neville came lumbering in, soaking from head to toe. 

“Golly, it’s raining hard out there!” He grumbled, and then cheered up at the sight of Harry. “Harry! What a great surprise!” 

They had an awkward, damp hug and then Neville sat down to charm himself dry. Luna plonked a cup of tea in front of him and they shared a smile. 

“So what are you doing up here, Harry?” 

“Just wanted to get away for a day or two, you know how it is.” 

“Your promotion wearing you a bit thin?” 

“I have a tonic for that, Harry, it’s got beetroot and essence of murtlap in, it’s really rather tasty.” 

Neville shook his head subtly, eyes wide, at Harry, who laughed and politely turned down Luna’s kind offer. 

“Well, if you’re sure, Harry. Anyway, we do have someone else arriving at some point today for the weekend, but I’m sure it’ll be lovely.” 

Harry paused. Ginny was close friends with Luna and Neville, and might well have decided to stay out the rest of the article’s aftermath away from other people. 

“Don’t worry, mate, it’s not Ginny.” Neville looked poised to expand further, but there was a knock on the door and it swung open to reveal a wet, bedraggled Malfoy. 

“Draco, how lovely to see you.” Luna gave him a quick hug and pulled off his dripping coat. Malfoy turned to greet Neville and saw Harry. 

They stared at each other for a moment, surprised. 

“Hello, Potter.” 

“Hi, Malfoy.” 

“Malfoy helps us with specimen collection sometimes, when he’s bored with city life.” Neville explained as Luna made another cup of tea for Malfoy and something more foul smelling for herself, although she sipped it quite happily. 

“Harry’s come to stay the weekend!” Luna told Malfoy cheerily as she handed over his tea. They nodded at each other, both secretly amused they’d picked the same rural hideout for their time-out. 

Malfoy sat down beside Harry at the small table and accepted his cup of tea with a smile. 

“Sorry it’s been a while.” Malfoy said to Neville, who shrugged. 

“That’s ok, mate, you’ve been busy putting away criminals. It’s a tough job.” 

"Hey, what about me, I’m the one who catches them!” Harry interrupted, feeling comfortably at home in the little crowded cottage. 

“That’s hardly a skill, Potter, I actually had to learn the law.” 

“You read books and give speeches, I’m the one that faces the real danger.” 

“Book reading is probably too dangerous for you, Potter, I’m not even sure if you can read.” 

Both Harry and Malfoy laughed, and Neville rolled his eyes, used to their playful rivalry. They were infamous for it, both in their professional circles and in their friendship groups.

“Enough, boys. Only niceness here.” Luna said mildly, offering Malfoy a sip of her drink. 

Not seeing both Neville and Harry’s warning movements, Malfoy accepted, and immediately pulled a face.

“It’s…lovely, Luna. Thank you.” He managed to get out, and then took a large swig of his tea, trying to control his grimace before Luna saw it. 

Luna looked delighted. Malfoy looked up to see both Harry and Neville laughing silently. He frowned for a moment. Harry only laughed harder. 

***

Late afternoon found Harry and Malfoy, both wearing muggle wellies, standing knee-deep in a small river near the cottage, having been tasked by Luna to keep an eye out for any “slithering turtlefish”. Harry had a strong suspicion they didn’t exist, but he wasn’t going to tell her that – she’d drawn them several diagrams, with colour, of what they were reported to look like, and she’d been so pleased when Harry had agreed to look for them. 

“How long have we been here now, Potter?” 

Harry cast a quick Tempus charm in the air. 

“It’s been five minutes since you last asked, Malfoy.” 

Malfoy rolled his eyes and returned to peering through the somewhat murky water. 

“I swear, if any of this foul water gets into my boots…” He muttered to himself. 

“I thought Neville said you often help them with things like this?” 

“On land, Potter. On land, not in the middle of a river!” 

But Malfoy wasn’t really upset, or he would have stormed off – he clearly enjoyed spending time in the countryside. And Harry felt the same - the air was cool and fresh, and it was silent except for the bubbling water, birds singing and their voices. 

“How are you doing? You know, with Ginny…” Malfoy looked slightly nervous, like maybe he was overstepping a boundary, like he thought Harry would be annoyed.

Harry did think, briefly, about telling him to butt out of other people’s business, but he couldn’t find the heart to do it. Malfoy had been supportive of him so far, and it would be rude to, well, be rude.

“Better. She came by this morning, let herself in to ask why I won’t take that stupid article back. Didn’t like it when I said I wouldn’t.” 

“She thinks you wrote it?” 

“I guess, although I didn’t. Wish I knew who did, though.” 

Malfoy didn’t say anything, waiting for Harry to explain.

“Probably Ron, the well-meaning idiot. Always wants to fight my fights for me.” 

Harry said it fondly – he loved Ron like a brother, and he knew Ron felt the same about him. Ron having his back in this situation only proved it once again. Ron loved Ginny no less than he had before, despite his disappointment at her behaviour – it was just that Ron loved Harry, too. He was part of the Weasley family, same as Ginny, and Ron loved them both with the same fierceness.

“Or with you.” Malfoy added. “Maybe he just has your back.”

Harry shrugged, and wondered whether his feet were getting damp or just cold.

“Well, whether it was Ron or not, I’m glad they did it.” Harry paused. “I wasn’t at first, obviously, but I am now.” 

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, and instead swore, loudly. 

“Oh, bloody hell!” 

He sounded almost like a Weasley, and Harry had to stifle a laugh. 

“My boot has a sodding hole in it!” 

Malfoy stomped out of the river, swearing the air blue as he did, and Harry followed him out, now laughing openly, much to Malfoy’s chagrin.

“They must be Luna’s.” Harry managed to say. “She wouldn’t care if her feet got wet.” 

Malfoy, pulling off his boot to reveal a sopping wet sock, didn’t reply. 

“How small are your feet, Malfoy, to fit into Luna’s boots?” 

Malfoy threw the boot at him, but there was a small smile on his face that echoed the grin on Harry’s.


	5. The Art Of Scraping Through (weekend five)

Harry was over Ginny. Definitively, undeniably over her. And he knew that because he’d seen her with Cormac a few nights ago, at a dinner party held by Oliver Wood and his boyfriend, and Harry had been almost happy that she’d been happy. 

She’d been all over Cormac, kissing his neck and holding his hand and laughing outrageously at his (bad) jokes, and Harry hadn’t even cared. He could hardly believe it, and neither could Malfoy, who’d been sat next to him throughout the meals. 

Malfoy had kept him well entertained, though, with multiple wild stories about his trips with Pansy and Blaise, all of which had Harry laughing. Harry in turn had talked about the tour of the world he, Ron and Hermione had gone on in the six months after the war, to meet all the important members of the world’s magical community, a community that the three of them now firmly belonged in. His stories weren’t funny, but Malfoy seemed invested in listening to them anyway.

Harry didn’t know why they hadn’t been close friends before all this - they clearly got along well, really well, and they had so much in common. It was almost midnight before Harry realised he’d barely spoken to anybody else - he’d caught up with Oliver, obviously, and chatted to a few other school friends, but other than that, it had been mostly Malfoy. Part of the reason for that was that this was really Ginny’s scene, and he’d always been at these events with her and for her, but Harry couldn’t help feeling like Malfoy was just more interesting than everybody else there. 

Towards the end of the evening Harry and Malfoy vanished off onto the balcony to continue their conversation, which eventually, naturally, turned to deeper, darker stuff. They had never talked about the war before, or their roles in it, but several glasses of wine deep, and with the revelation that they had forged a real friendship without even noticing, it was a surprisingly easy conversation.

It didn’t take long for it to become clear they felt the same - guilty, ashamed, pained - Harry for being the cause of the war, and Malfoy for fighting for the wrong side. 

“It was because of my parents.” Malfoy said. “I couldn’t leave my mother behind with them, and I couldn’t leave my father to suffer for my defection. I’m not sure I even wanted to.”

Harry understood. There had been many times he’d wished he could run away from the war, but he’d always known he had no choice. He would never have left his friends behind.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Harry said softly, and Malfoy nodded. 

Later, Malfoy said something equally important to Harry - “It wasn’t about you.” 

“The war wasn’t for you, or because of you. It was for everybody. You just were the person who cared enough to stop what was going on.”

“I didn’t have a choice.” Harry said softly, and Malfoy nodded.

They had an understanding, then - neither had truly chosen the side they’d been on - their lives and loves had determined it for them, and their own feelings had nothing to do with it. If they’d had their way, neither of them would ever have fought in the war, and they both knew it.

***

Despite that being the best evening he’d had in weeks, the night that followed was the worst in a very long time. 

He woke up four separate times screaming, so loudly that he’d had to put a Silencing charm round his room in fear of disturbing his muggle neighbours. Countless images kept flashing behind his eyes, and he could hardly remember which was real and which was a fear-fuelled nightmare. 

He saw Ron and Hermione, dead by Voldemort’s hand over and over again. He saw the whole Weasley family tortured by Death Eaters, killed for opposing Voldemort. He saw his school friends fighting a war at only seventeen, casting killing curses without a second thought. He saw a million atrocities committed by both sides of the war, and nothing in him knew the truth. 

Each time he woke he had to remind himself that his friends and family were happy and successful and, most importantly, alive. He had to remind himself that Ron’s fierce loyalty and Hermione’s sharp intelligence had not been corrupted; that Luna’s innocence and Neville’s bravery and Ginny’s determination had all been left intact; that his friends had once been damaged, but were now whole. 

And as he reminded himself of all this, he reminded himself of something else, too - he was not whole, he was not healed. There were still sharp edges in him, edges that weren’t softened by the passing of time, and they still cut him open when he was least expecting it. 

But that’s OK, he thought with relief. Nobody expected perfection from him anymore - his friends loved him for what he was, and anybody who didn’t feel the same (Ginny included, he thought to himself) could fuck off, for all he cared.

This realisation seemed to light something up inside him - he spent the whole of the next day, Saturday, redecorating his flat - he repainted the walls, he transfigured the cold, steel appliances, he searched muggle markets for art and decorations to hang up. 

It wasn’t easy to change everything about the flat he’d shared with Ginny, but it was his flat alone now, and it had to reflect his own mind. By the time he was finished, it was busy and messy and beautifully lived in, and he loved it. After all, just because he hadn’t gotten over the war didn’t mean he couldn’t fake it till he made it. He was slowly perfecting the art of scraping through, until one day he’d be living his life instead of living day by day.

***

It was late Saturday evening when Ron stepped from the fireplace into Harry’s flat, and his face was inscrutable. Harry’s cheerful, albeit slightly manic, greeting faded in his mouth.

“Harry, mate, you should sit down.” 

Harry did, although he didn’t know what could possibly be wrong.

“Ginny and Cormac broke up.” 

Harry felt a flicker of hope burst into life in his chest, and then he quashed it, straight-faced, steel-hearted. You don’t want her back, he thought to himself, and he was almost telling the truth. The truth was that he didn’t want to want her back, and that was enough for now. Harry took a deep breath.

“Is she OK?”

Ron looked surprised. He’d probably thought Harry would have a wild reaction, like wanting to go running back to her and begging for her to come home. Harry shrugged. Ron shrugged.

“No, she’s not. Cormac cheated on her, apparently.”

Harry let out a sharp bark of laughter before he could contain it. Ron frowned (Ginny was his sister, after all) but said nothing (Harry was his brother, after all). 

“Anyway, she’ll be staying with me and Hermione until she’s back on her feet. Just thought you should know.” 

Harry nodded. 

“Thanks for the warning, Ron, that could have been awkward otherwise.” 

Harry struggled to keep his jealousy under control - Ron and Hermione had looked after him when he’d been hurt, and now they were doing the same for Ginny. It’s OK, he told himself, and it was.

***

Harry worked all Sunday, making sure everything was ready for the week ahead - he’d settled happily into his promotion by now, but he still sometimes forgot things. He’d worked out the best way to avoid that was to spend a day a week just working on his new duties - approving time off, scheduling stakeouts etc, double checking each case summary before sending it on to the legal department, assigning new cases. 

It wasn’t really a surprise to him when Malfoy came knocking on his office door, under the guise of wanting to check something with a particular case. 

“Busy?” Malfoy threw himself into the chair in front of Harry’s desk, dropping several files in front of him. 

“Is this for work?” 

Malfoy paused. “No.” He admitted. 

“Then no, I’m not busy.” Harry smiled. He would have said no either way, but he was glad to know Malfoy wanted to hang out with him.

Malfoy smiled back. 

They fell into easy conversation, about their cases, their visit to Neville and Luna’s last weekend and about the news of Ginny and Cormac’s break up. 

“I’m not surprised McLaggen cheated.” Malfoy said. “He’s always seemed like a man with no morals.” 

“No brain, either.” Harry said rather uncharitably, but Malfoy smirked in response.

“Typical Gryffindor.” 

“Oi! The rest of us have brains, thank you, we just choose not to use them.” 

Both men chuckled, amused by what had once been an overwhelming distinction between the two of them, and was now merely a playful rivalry. 

Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment, as though he were about to speak, and instead shook his head. Harry caught this movement and demanded “out with it”. Malfoy looked reluctant. 

“I don’t know if I should tell you this, Potter...but I’m the one that sent in the tip. It wasn’t Ron.” 

Harry was gobsmacked, for a moment. 

“Didn’t know you cared, Malfoy.” He said. 

“Can’t make fun of you if you’re miserable, can I?” 

Harry smiled, then, and understood. It wasn’t about their banterous friendship, no matter what Malfoy insisted - just before the article had been published, Malfoy had told him to stand up for himself, or at least let someone else stand up for him. 

“Thanks for being a friend.” Harry said quietly, to show he was being serious. 

“Anytime.” Malfoy replied, just as seriously. 

There was a moment of silence, of solemness, and then they moved back on to lighter topics.


	6. We Kissed And I Was Glad (weekend six)

During the week after Malfoy’s revelation about the article Harry became vaguely aware that something was changing in his friendship with Malfoy - they ate lunch together every day, often went to the pub in the evenings, even did their paperwork in the same room. With the exception of Ron and Hermione during their months on the run, it was the longest he’d ever spent with one person in such a short time, but he didn’t feel cramped or suffocated. 

He hadn’t realised just how lonely he’d been - living with Ginny had been like living with a ghost, and he was sure it had been the same for her. In hindsight, seeing her only some weekends had barely been a relationship, and it wouldn’t have made for a good marriage. He could almost understand why she’d done what she’d done - she’d seen the truth long before he had, and she’d acted on it, even if she’d chosen the wrong actions. 

Somewhere around the Thursday mark of that week, Harry suddenly realised he was comparing his relationship with Ginny and his friendship with Malfoy, and although he’d swiftly put that thought out of his mind, it came creeping back early Saturday morning. 

Aside from his brief entanglement with Cho, Ginny had been the only real love in his life - he’d been in sixth year when he fell in love with her, and he was only now falling back out of love with her. He was inexperienced at love and relationships, and he had to admit to himself that perhaps he was only able to move on because he was falling for somebody else. 

He’d never before entertained the possibility of having romantic feelings for men, although he certainly had noticed the objectively attractive men in his life- Cedric Diggory, for example, or, although he’d never admit it, Bill Weasley. And of course Malfoy was on this list - tall, wiry and angular, with deceptive strength and a face as kinetic as water, he was easy on the eyes, or at least Harry’s eyes. 

Harry thought about it for a long time - did he want to date men? More specifically, did he want to date Malfoy? After a while, Harry realised that, by thinking so much into it, he’d answered his own question. Yes, he did want to date men, and yes, he wanted to date Malfoy. 

Harry didn’t know what to do with this information - he thought about seeking Ron’s understanding, or Hermione’s logical advice, but it was too late - Malfoy was coming over for lunch in only an hour. He barely even had time to think further on his realisation as he quickly tidied his flat, simultaneously eagerly awaiting and dreading a knock on the door, which came right on time.

Harry couldn’t help checking his reflection in the mirror as he went to open the door, frowning at his unruly hair. 

“Well, are you going to let me in, Potter?” 

Harry realised he was blocking the open doorway and stepped to the side, watching Malfoy walk past into his flat. His epiphany seemed so obvious now - Malfoy, in his sleek, dark clothes, with his white-blond hair, so clearly stung something inside of Harry - how could he have missed it before?

“Nice place.” Malfoy said drily, peering at the plain wooden appliances.

“Ginny decorated it, and I’m not very good at transfiguration.” Harry explained, feeling self-conscious.

“I thought she had better taste. Ah well, at least you get to do what you want with it now.” 

Harry hadn’t thought of that, and he looked around with new eyes, feeling pleased. The changes he’d made a few weeks ago, adding paintings and other knick knacks, had definitely cheered up the place, but the overall result was messy. Harry had an idea.

“Will you help? You’ve got a better eye than I have. And you’re better at transfiguration.” 

“Just superior in every way, I suppose. Yes, I’ll help.” 

Harry rolled his eyes.

They sat down on Harry’s sofa and ate the Indian takeout Malfoy had brought with him. Harry watched Malfoy as subtly as he could, wondering what kind of men he dated. Harry knew nothing whatsoever about Malfoy’s personal life - until recently, their friendship had been entirely work-based. Malfoy had mentioned his sexuality weeks ago, just after Ginny had left him, but they hadn’t talked about it any more. Harry kept wondering as he examined Malfoy.

Malfoy was very well groomed, but he rather thought it was just good hygiene and a concern for one’s wellbeing which, if he was honest, he thought everybody should have, gay or not. He had thin, delicate fingers and long pale eyelashes, and it was at this point that Harry noticed Malfoy was watching him, too. 

Embarrassed, flustered, Harry blurted out the first thing he could think of. 

“I think I like men.” He paused, watching Malfoy’s face - a flicker of something behind the eyes - surprise? amusement? disgust, even? “And women. I think I like both.” 

Malfoy nodded slowly, thoughtfully, looking as though he wanted to say something but didn’t quite dare. 

“What, Malfoy? Spit it out.” 

“Well, I just always assumed you and Diggory were, I don’t know, dating way back then. You know, the two Hogwarts champions, the chosen ones.” 

Harry laughed, although he felt the familiar twinge at the reminder of Cedric’s fate in the graveyard. He pushed it down. This wasn’t the time for guilt.

“Hardly! I was hung up over Cho Chang in fourth year.” 

Both men chuckled a little.

“What made you think about this now?” 

“I’m not sure. I’d been with Ginny so long I didn’t really have time to think about it until now.”

Harry wanted to ask Malfoy about his own experiences, but he couldn’t find the words. Was it rude to ask? Was it too personal a thing to talk about? 

“I knew all along.” Malfoy offered. “That I was into men.” 

“What about Pansy?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. His childhood friend had moved to America shortly after the war, and he hadn’t seen her since. She’d been desperate to escape the stigma of being an ex Death Eater, but hadn’t been determined, like Malfoy, to become a better person. 

“She was relentless in pursuing a relationship, but I never felt the same. It’s partly why we aren’t friends anymore.” 

“That’s a shame.” Harry said, but he was surprised - although Malfoy had never actively encouraged Pansy, he’d never discouraged her either. Perhaps he’d valued her friendship too much (or, as was often the case in the Slytherin House, allyship). 

“If we’re meant to be friends, we will be again.” 

“That’s very...profound, Malfoy.” 

“Shut up, Potter.” 

But both men were smiling slightly. Harry felt lighter for his confession - Malfoy had been understanding and, even better, had confirmed his own sexuality again. Harry had to remind himself, as he looked at Malfoy’s sharp smile, that this was just a friendship, that he didn’t really have a hope. 

After all, just because Malfoy liked men it didn’t mean he would like Harry, who was a mess of a person - heartbroken and stricken by trauma and generally just treading water. 

“Want a glass of water?” Malfoy offered, standing up and brushing his trousers down. 

“Yeah, thanks.” 

Malfoy returned a few moments later not just with two glasses of water but also clutching a bottle of wine. 

“I found this.” He said sheepishly, and Harry rolled his eyes at the thought of Malfoy rifling through his cupboards, although he wasn’t really annoyed - certainly he’d do the same the first chance he got in Malfoy’s own flat. Harry took a closer look at the bottle of wine.

“I was saving it for our anniversary.” Harry explained, thinking of how his and Ginny’s anniversary would have been in a few weeks. Malfoy looked uncomfortable, but Harry only shrugged. 

“Let’s drink it now.” Harry said, summoning two wine glasses from the kitchen. He only just managed to catch them (distracted by Malfoy carefully sitting down and swinging his legs up to rest on the coffee table) and he fumbled with them, embarrassed. 

“Merlin, Potter, as clumsy as ever, I see.” 

“Shut up, Malfoy.” Harry offered him a glass of wine (fuller than was deemed socially acceptable, but Malfoy didn’t comment). 

***

“Got your eye on any nice men, Potter?” Malfoy’s voice was slurred (the product of sharing two bottles of wine with Harry) but there was something pointed in his question. 

“Ha! Hardly.” Harry didn’t think before replying. It was true - Malfoy wasn’t a nice man - but he realised too late it would only invite further questions, and he was too drunk to distract Malfoy. 

“Still hung up on Ginny, then?” 

“Don’t be stupid.” 

There was a couple of seconds of silence, in which Harry had an argument with himself. 

“I lied, just now. I am into someone.” Harry deliberately looked away from Malfoy’s shining face, staring up at the ceiling. “I just don’t think he’s into me.” 

“He’d have to be mad not to. Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World. Quite a catch, you are.” 

“Only if you don’t know me.” Harry said despondently. He’d been half hoping that Malfoy might make a move - it was dark outside now, and they were both drunk. But Malfoy had been only friendly, with a side of sarcasm that thrilled Harry. 

“Hmm.” 

“What?” 

“I disagree, that’s all.” 

“Well what would you know about it?” There was a challenge in Harry's voice, but he wasn't sure what he was challenging Malfoy to do.

There was a long silence. Harry took a deep breath and looked down from the ceiling, and found that Malfoy was a lot closer than he had been before. Harry’s sofa was rather long, and Malfoy had shifted so far along it that his knee was almost brushing Harry’s. For some reason, this almost-touch mesmerised Harry. 

“I know you, don’t I?” Malfoy finally said, voice softer than Harry had ever heard it. 

“You do…” Harry couldn’t look away from their knees, only centimetres apart. He was so on edge he thought he might be sober again - there was something sharp in him at the sound of Malfoy’s quiet voice. 

“And I like you, don’t I?” 

“Do you?” Harry looked up at that, catching Malfoy’s eye. Something hopeful sang in his chest. 

“I thought you knew.” 

Harry didn’t know what to say - I had no idea? I like you too? Will you kiss me? He opened and closed his mouth a few times, watching Malfoy’s face close off. Feeling panicked at the sight of Malfoy starting to turn away, he threw himself forward, lurching into his face. 

“Shit! Sorry!” Harry gasped, pulling back to rub his forehead as Malfoy groaned. 

“God you’re an idiot, Potter.” Malfoy grumbled, but before Harry could say anything he leant in and kissed Harry. 

It was different than kissing Ginny, Harry thought, and then he stopped thinking at all as one of Malfoy’s hands twisted into Harry’s messy hair.


End file.
